


Chosen

by Kienova



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M, Gen, Kindertransport, WWII AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:43:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9622736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kienova/pseuds/Kienova
Summary: “Nehmen Sie Ihre Schwester, gehen Sie jetzt,” the words were barked out by the angry looking matron as she tied cards to each child’s jacket, thrusting the infant into his arms. He looked up, confused as to what was going on as the entire population of the orphanage was hastily shuffled out the door and towards the waiting trucks, an anxious looking woman with a clipboard standing next to the closest vehicle.--Mere days to relocate hundreds of children. An extended journey and new families at the end. The Kindertransport was the last hope to save some of the Jewish children of Europe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This AU was prompted to me on Tumblr. If any of you don't know, I am a history teacher. Getting prompted to write about a Kindertransport AU was pretty much like giving me a bottle of my favourite wine and a giant bucket of chocolate. 
> 
> Please see end notes for historical information (if you want).

“Nehmen Sie Ihre Schwester, gehen Sie jetzt,” the words were barked out by the angry looking matron as she tied cards to each child’s jacket, thrusting the infant into his arms. He looked up, confused as to what was going on as the entire population of the orphanage was hastily shuffled out the door and towards the waiting trucks, an anxious looking woman with a clipboard standing next to the closest vehicle.

“Sind Familien auf sie warten?” the matron called, shoving a sobbing little girl into the arms of one of the men who was loading the trucks.

“Die meisten von ihnen,” came the clipped answer. “Beeil dich bitte.” He swallowed, hard, worried at the statement. Would there be someone to meet him at the other end of the journey he was about to go on? Would they be able to care for him? Would they treat him with detached concern with a hint of resentment like the matron of the orphanage, or would they welcome him like the parents that lived in the recesses of his memory, taken just days after his sister was born? He felt himself being lifted into the truck, settling the baby on his lap, holding her tight to him as the truck lurched into motion, heading for the train station.

The next day and a half flew by, filled with trains, adults speaking in rushed German, French, and English. The older children talking in hushed whispers, speculating what was happening, catching the rumblings of tension from the adults as they passed through city after city before ending up in a dreary train station, rain pattering against the windows as they were shuttled off the train, crowded onto the platform where uniformed men and women stood with clipboards and pens, rigid in the sea of children and anxious looking adults that lined the opposite end of the platform.

“Es wird sein in ordnung Angelika,” he whispered, kissing the top of the baby’s head, watching how she looked around, unsure in the new surroundings. She scrunched up her nose before yawning, cuddling into the worn coat that adorned her brother’s slight frame. He strained his ears to listen, unsure of the dialect that the uniformed man was using as he bustled about the children, nudging them into a semblance of order based on the numbers that were pinned to their coats. He felt exhausted, the panic from the last few days finally catching up with his young body, the fear of falling asleep to only find that something disastrous had happened having kept him away for the majority of their journey.

“Timotei Kronecker!” the man yelled just as he felt himself sway on his feet slightly. Shifting the baby in his arms he raised a hand, allowing himself to be pulled from the crowd and towards the group of adults at the other end of the platform. “And I’m guessing the little one is Angelika Kronecker,” the man muttered, looking down at his clipboard before tapping the woman at the typewriter on the shoulder.

“Got both of the Kronecker’s from Wijsmuller-Meijer’s batch in Vienna,” the man said, checking their names off his list. The woman turned, her kind eyes scanning over their haggard appearance as she gently reached out and checked their number cards.

“Patrick Turner!” she yelled, glancing around the throng of adults as a dark haired man moved towards her. “And Shelagh Mannion!” A blonde woman came from the opposite direction, her eyes wide.

“Mr. Turner, if you could show me your identification please,” the woman instructed, accepting the piece of paper she was passed as the man ran a hand through his hair, dark eyes looking over the children with care.

“They look exhausted,” he said, frowning.

“I’m afraid their journey was very short notice. Things in Europe are turning south quickly,” the woman replied, checking a few boxes before passing Patrick a paper to sign. “And Miss Mannion, if I could see your identification too please.” The woman pulled the paperwork from her purse, a sob catching in her throat.

“The poor darlings,” she murmured, following Patrick’s actions of signing the required documents.

“I’m afraid they don’t have much, they’ve both come from an orphanage that had to be liquidated quickly. All the children are Jewish from that area,” the woman went on, signing a few things of her own before pulling two single pieces of paper out, one for each child, which she passed to the two adults in front of her.

 “Of course,” Patrick mused.

“All right, best to get this sorted. Timotei, you’re going to go with Mr. Turner,” the woman said, rising from her chair only to crouch down next to him, her grey skirt clinging to her legs. Timotei cocked his head, unsure of her words as she reached out and gently took Angelika from his arms. “Miss Mannion, you’ll be taking Angelika.” The adults exchanged a glance before nodding, Shelagh reaching out to take Angelika who was falling asleep, and Patrick reaching for Timotei’s hand.

“It’s all right Tim,” Patrick said, bending down until he was eye-level with the boy. “You’re going to be all right. I promise.” Gently, he tugged the boy’s hand, leading him out of the crowded station with Shelagh not that far behind. “Do you think he understands what’s going on?” Patrick questioned, looking back at the blonde woman who was following him, tears in her eyes as she cuddled the little girl close.

“I don’t think any of them understand,” she answered, voice shaking. The air that hit them when they made it to the street was cold and damp, the occasional frigid raindrop splattering onto the grey pavement. Shelagh shivered, pulling her coat tighter around herself and Angelika as she walked towards the bus stop at the other end of the road, leaving Patrick and Timotei to head in the opposite direction. It took a moment for the boy to realise his sister was no longer with him, his little heels digging into the concrete and his hand frantically trying to rid itself of Patrick’s grip when he noticed.

“Nien! Nicht ohne meine Schwester!” Timotei yelled, tears springing to his eyes as he tried to escape, managing to pry himself away from Patrick as he raced down the road towards Shelagh, grabbing her legs and holding on for dear life. She looked shocked, her blue eyes staring down at him with sorrow and trepidation. Patrick raced after him, eyes affright as he reached her side.

“Tim!” he scolded, lungs heaving.

“Nicht ohne meine Schwester,” the boy sobbed, holding tight. “P-please.” It was the only English word he really knew. He had heard it from a man not far from the orphanage a few times. The man had disappeared a few weeks before. That was when the matron had started talking about trains and protecting the children. He hadn’t understood it. He still didn’t. But he knew it was a way to ask for something. A way to beg. He felt the woman’s hand in his hair then, stroking over his head, a cry coming from her throat.

“He doesn’t want to leave his sister,” she muttered, looking over at Patrick, tears sliding down her cheeks.

“You speak German?” Patrick asked, resting his hand atop Shelagh’s on the boy’s head.

“Only a little,” she confessed. “Enough to know he wants his sister.” Patrick sighed.

“What are we supposed to do?” he questioned. He had never met the woman before, having been so wrapped up in his studies at medical school that the thought of finding someone to spend his life with was far from his mind. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gone dancing or out with his colleagues for a drink. He doubted he would have found this woman regardless, her eyes crystal clear and filled with more emotion than he thought a person could convey in one look.

“I don’t know,” she confessed, sniffing slightly.

“Please don’t think me forward Miss, but maybe we could grab some tea. Get the children something to eat and... maybe we will be able to figure something out given a little time and something in our stomachs?” Patrick offered. Shelagh nodded, a shaking breath leaving her.

“Lass uns essen. Wir gehen zusammen,” Shelagh said, stumbling over the words slightly as she tried to speak to the boy who looked up at her, eyes watering and nose running. He nodded his head against her skirt, allowing Patrick to pry him away and wipe his face with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket as they moved down the street towards a cafe.

Patrick ordered them food while Shelagh tried to clean the children up slightly in the bathroom, washing Timotei’s hands and passing a damp cloth over Angelika’s features before changing her nappy with the supplies she had luckily brought in her bag. The soup that awaited them on the table warmed Timotei as he drank it, his eyes drooping with each sip. He desperately wished to sleep, but was scared if he closed his eyes he would never see Angelika again. The same thing had happened with his parents. He had gone to sleep with a loving family, and awoken an orphan with a screaming baby in the next room. Despite his best efforts he nodded off, listing sideways until he was pressed against Patrick’s arm, his breathing low and even.

“What if we let them see each other once a week?” Patrick offered, wrapping his arm around the boy and pulling him in close. “I live in Poplar but I could come to you if the journey is too far with a little one in tow?”

“I’m just in Stepney so it isn’t that far. Maybe we could meet halfway? Or one week one of us travels, and the next the other? My Godmother is in Poplar so we may be there on occasion anyway,” Shelagh answered, rocking Angelika as the little girl slept. “Can I confess something to you Mr. Turner?” she asked after a beat.

“Of course. And... if we’re going to be seeing one another on a regular basis for the sake of the little ones  please call me Patrick.”

“Patrick... I’ve no idea how to raise a baby,” she said, straight faced. The table was engulfed by silence for a moment before he burst out laughing, Shelagh’s giggles intermingling with the sound.

“I’ve no idea either,” he agreed, rubbing the tears from his eyes as he continued to chuckle, glad that both children were asleep. They exchanged information after that, Patrick insisting they split a cab back to their respective districts as the sky opened up once again, soaking the late afternoon in a frigid downpour. He gathered Timotei into his arms, carrying the boy out to the taxi, watching how gingerly Shelagh settled Angelika into her lap once she was inside. He couldn’t help but smile, the terror in his heart subsiding at the picture the sleeping children made.

XxX

The first week was a near disaster. Timotei cried daily, begging for his sister and, despite Patrick’s attempts at reassurance that they would see her after church on Sunday, the little boy’s language barrier made it near impossible for him to understand. It wasn’t until the boy saw his sister again, perched on Shelagh’s hip on the steps of the church, that he calmed, racing up the concrete until he could grab onto the woman, reaching for the giggling baby girl instantly.

“He’s been inconsolable,” Patrick confessed, eyes rimmed in dark circles as he traversed the entryway of the parish until he was standing next to the younger woman. She smiled up at him, her own eyes encircled in the red of an exhausted parent. “How has Angela been?” Shelagh laughed, shaking her head.

“Angelika,” she said, grinning up at him. “Although, I do admit, Angela is more to my taste.” She knelt down, passing the girl to her brother carefully before standing again. “She’s been lovely. If only she would sleep through the night. Or for more than two hours at a time. I thought a child of her age would have a more regular sleep schedule by now. Although, I’m sure the upset of the journey and leaving her home has been a nasty shock.” Patrick nodded, leaning against the entryway as Timotei cuddled Angelika.

“I’ve started calling him Tim,” he mused. “Every time I try to say his name, it ends up coming out Timothy. I thought maybe a nickname would be better.” Shelagh chuckled, nodding, mirroring his position as she stifled a yawn behind her hand.

“I wouldn’t give her up for anything. Especially with the things I’ve been hearing about the Germans but... this will get easier, won’t it?” she whispered, looking up at Patrick.

“It will. In time,” he assured her.

XxX

The spring and summer flew by, things easing until there was a regular schedule for both adults and their respective charges. Timotei quickly picked up enough English to communicate, adapting to being called Timothy with startling clarity as soon as he realised he wasn’t going to lose his baby sister in the days they spent apart. Patrick was kind to him, bought him new clothes and gave him his own room and his own bed. He had been used to sharing with another boy at the orphanage and sometimes Angelika to boot, but he revelled in the freedom of being able to move in his sleep.

Miss Mannion quickly became ‘Auntie Shelagh,’ the boy taking to her as much as he had to Patrick after the initial shock wore off. She doted on him, sneaking him sweets when Patrick wasn’t looking during their weekly outings, running around the park with him whenever he asked. Angelika giggled constantly, learning to toddle after the adults and her brother with clumsy steps. 

 September came quickly, the adults in Poplar growing grim and frightened as the radio boomed out a message from a man Timothy didn’t know, the words “Britain is at war with Germany” echoing around the community. He didn’t understand what it meant. He tried asking, but Patrick never explained, his own expression dimming when he received a letter in the post one morning. The man picked up the phone, calling a number and waiting.

“I know it isn’t Sunday but... I need to speak with you. I’ve a letter from the Armed Services Act...” 

In less than an hour the boy found himself playing with Angelika in the garden of a convent, a gentle looking nun watching over them and crawling about on the grass with Angelika when she was pulled down by the girl with little hesitation, a laugh echoing out of the woman’s lungs. Shelagh had placed a hand on the woman’s arm before following Patrick into the building.

“You’ve been conscripted?” Shelagh asked once she closed the door to the office they had been leant by her God mother, Sister Julienne. Patrick nodded, face grim as he held the letter out to her.

“I’m not sure how quickly they’ll ask me to go. I know I’m going to pass the medical... and will probably be placed in the medical corps because I’m a physician but... what am I to do with Tim? I know it is a lot to ask Shelagh. More than I should ever wish to have to ask you. But I was wondering –”

“Patrick, you know I’ll take him in a heartbeat,” Shelagh answered, grabbing his hand. “I just... I don’t know if they’re going to let me. Single foster parents... we’re restricted to one child. I don’t know if they will let me and –”

“Let’s get married.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think better about them. Shelagh stared, eyes wide. He had been thinking about asking if he could court the woman for a while, her gentle yet fiery nature complimenting his own in a way he never thought possible. The way she cared for Angelika and Tim alike, melted his heart, his pulse pounding every time he thought of her in their time apart. Sundays, a day he had always dreaded, attending church on rote rather than because of actual devotion, had quickly become the day he looked forward to each week, knowing that he would see the woman across from him for a few hours.

“Are... are you sure? We can try and look for another way if –” she stumbled, fidgeting with her hands against the fabric of her skirt.

“I’m sure. I... I’ve been meaning to ask for weeks if... if you would like to see one another... more. For more than just the children getting to see each other. As two people that could... well... fall in love,” he rambled, suddenly nervous. Patrick felt his palms start to sweat, desperately trying to keep himself from rubbing the back of his neck.

“You... you think you could... love me?” The words sounded so shocked and unsure that it nearly broke him.

“I already know that I do,” he replied, crossing the few inches between them until he could seize her hands in his own, holding them close to his heart. “I think I started falling in love with you the moment you told me you had no idea how to raise a baby. You were so pure and honest in that moment Shelagh. I had no chance of not loving you.” She responded by leaning up to kiss him, standing on her toes until their lips met.

XxX

He shipped out mere weeks after they married, holding her tight to him as long as possible before pulling back to drop kisses on the foreheads of both children.

He cherished the letters Shelagh sent, even as they broke his heart. Angelika, who responded to Angela more than her initial given name, had cried for him every night for a month. Timothy had become subdued at home even as he attended school, learning English and mathematics with gusto.

The war dragged on. For nearly five years he found himself trudging through Europe, only allowed on leave every six months or so to go home and see his little family. Shelagh and the children spent the majority of the war in Scotland on a farm owned by her cousins, safe from the constant threat of Nazi invasion and bombings that struck London. Every time he returned to the mainland he wanted nothing more than to run back to the boat and return to Britain, shaking in his sleep at night in Italy as bombs rained down, as casualties piled into the medical tents.

When 1945 hit and the call came that the war was over he fell to his knees and prayed, sobbing into the dirt ground of the hospital tent.

Shelagh and the children were waiting for him at the docks when his boat finally landed in England two months after the war came to its official conclusion. She had brought the children back to London at the start of 1945 once the worst of the Nazi threat was over. She stood on the wooden pier, skirt blowing in the wind and highlighting the swollen belly she had, a product of his last leave from service two months before Christmas. Timothy, now twelve, stood nearly as tall as his adoptive mother, looking more like Patrick than the man had thought was possible. Angela, a bouncing six year old, raced towards him the minute his feet left the gangplank, throwing herself in his arms with a scream of “DADDY!”

Shelagh was on him next, peppering his face with kisses and pressing as close as her stomach would allow.

“You’ve got them right? You’re discharged? They can’t take you back?” she rushed, letting out a sob when Patrick pressed the discharge papers into her waiting hand. Timothy hugged his father from the other side, a sigh escaping the boy.

“You need to take care of Mum, I was worried I would be delivering a baby myself before you got back. Sister Julienne would have been so cross if that was my introduction to human anatomy,” Timothy mumbled, causing both of the adults to laugh. He took his sister’s hand, leading her down the docks and towards the street.

“Well you won’t have to wait long,” Shelagh whispered as Patrick wrapped an arm around her shoulders, starting to guide her back towards their flat. He raised an eyebrow, looking down at the woman he never would have imagined to be his wife had anyone asked him before the war. Had he never been listening to the radio the night foster parents were called for; had he never applied; had he never wanted to keep the children who now walked in front of him happy and together as much as possible, he never would have gotten the life he now found himself in.

“Why’s that?” he asked, revelling in the weak British sunlight that streamed through the streets of Poplar as they walked. She grinned up at him and it was only then that he noticed the slight perspiration at her hairline, her eyes betraying the pain she was in.

“I’ve been having contractions for the last few hours.”

**Author's Note:**

> I took a few liberties with this because of the way my writing muse wanted me to go. First let me apologise for changing Tim and Angela’s names/spelling of them but chances are the Anglo-spelling of their names would not be common among Austrian-Jewish families in the 30’s. 
> 
> Single parent homes were NOT approved for members of the Kindertransport in 1938/1939. It was preferable for children to be placed with young/middle aged couples or elderly couples during this transition as long as they fit the requirements for being foster parents for the duration of the unrest in Europe. Although many children had decent homes (500 applications were put in during the first call out for parents) many did not have a safe new life in Britain as the reason for volunteer families to offer up their homes was never taken into account. (Each child was given £50 for their eventual return trip which often never occurred).
> 
> The first transport began on December 1, 1938 from Berlin to England and the last Kindertransport left from the Netherlands on May 14, 1940. However, the last transport from Germany left on September 1, 1939 – the same day that Germany invaded Poland. World War II was declared on September 3, 1939 between Britain/France (and quickly the commonwealth) against Germany. The National Service (Armed Forced) Act was declared the same day, calling for all fit men from ages 18-41 to be conscripted into service for the British military. 
> 
> Geertruida Wijsmuller-Meijer was credited with helping to save over 10,000 children through the Kindertransports. She fought with Adolf Eichmann, the man who would later go on to organize the transportation of the Jewish people to concentration camps, particularly Auschwitz. He first told her that she could have no children for the program, and then gave her 600 in one day, expecting that she would not be able to have them transported in his short time limit. Geertruida managed to have all 600 transported out of Austria to Great Britain and The Hague beginning December 10, 1938. Following this mass export of children in December of 1938, she continued to transport Jewish children out of Germany several times a week until the invasion of the Netherlands and the closure of European borders at the outbreak of World War II.


End file.
